


between books and flowers (i reach for you.)

by 21stCenturyHero



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Flower Language, Fluff, M/M, Petty Thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/21stCenturyHero/pseuds/21stCenturyHero
Summary: Therion has weird ways to show affection. Alfyn is used to it by now.





	between books and flowers (i reach for you.)

**Author's Note:**

> **Books and flowers**
> 
> My books are thy eyes.  
> What better book is there  
> Than the one that better reads  
> The page of love?
> 
> Flowers to me are thy lips.  
> Where is the most beautiful flower  
> In which one better drinks  
> The balm of love?
> 
> _— Machado de Assis_

I.

 

Alfyn was used to it by now.

At first it was flowers, seeds and pretty but ultimately useless weeds pressed against the palm of his hand while they walked in silence and he was distracted, but eventually they became something else; a ring, an earring, candy that Therion stole from Tressa’s pockets. They were little gifts, like those brought by a cat; spoils of a hunt that he didn’t really need, small signs of affection born out of stubborn pride.

Alfyn cherished every single one of them.

 

II.

 

But he still wondered why Therion stopped bringing him flowers. He liked them, even if he couldn’t put them to good use.

From the most expensive stuff that Therion gave him, Alfyn kept a single a single earring, the first that was given to him; the way the green gemstones in it sparkled reminded him of Therion’s eyes, and that was enough reason for him to keep it close. 

He tried to argue against the rest several times though, but his answer always was a shrug, an uninterested reply; “Then throw it away,” Therion said. “I don’t care.”  
  
But he did, and before Alfyn could protest, the thief walked away. 

 

III.

 

The apothecary couldn’t really track down the original owners of the stuff he received, so he gave most of it to Tressa — she would return them (for a price) if she sourced the small trinkets, but otherwise the girl would just end up selling them in the next town.

“I’m going to break his neck,” she said cheerfully while counting her leaves. Alfyn sneered, absentmindedly playing with the jewel on his ear.

“You sound way too happy ‘bout it for tha— ow!”

The merchant kicked his shin under the table and he straightened his posture, looking offended. He could dismiss it as an accident, of course, but the fake sweet smile on Tressa’s face told him another story.

She giggled at him.

 

IV.

 

He turned the earring on his fingers, watching as the metal and the stones reflected the flickering lights of the candles that surrounded him. Alfyn wondered if that’s why he kept receiving jewels — he couldn’t force himself to part ways with that thing.

“I miss when he gave me flowers, tho,” he told Cyrus as they leaned over their tomes during a moment of rest. The apothecary started a new codex with his help, cataloguing the blossoms that he received from Therion throughout his travels; from their colors to their smell, the flowers spoke in a silent tongue that Alfyn wasn’t well versed in, but Cyrus was, and he was dedicated to create the most comprehensive dictionary he could manage with the professor’s help. They could be just pretty weeds, but similarly to the single earring, Alfyn refused to throw them away, so he pressed them against the pages and kept them close to his heart. “I wonder why he stopped doing so…” 

“Maybe he’s upset?” Cyrus suggested, flipping a page on his book with such slowness and care that he made it seem like he had all the time in the world. Alfyn cocked his head.

“What!? Why?”

“Well,” the scholar tapped his chin like he had an habit of doing when explaining a mystery, but didn’t look up from his tome. “Therion is awfully pragmatic, and you keeping his weeds as a pretty trinket probably rubs salt on a wound.”

Alfyn’s mouth opened in a small “o” shape. “But then why jewels? They’re just as useless.”

“Well, my hypothesis is that it’s because you’re perpetually broke.”

A soft “ah” left the apothecary’s lips. “…well, that’d make an awful lotta sense, wouldn’t it?”

 

V.

 

So he repurposed his new notebook, copying the notes from his actual codex and changing the words so they would be easier to understand by those who weren’t a part of his craft. Not all the plants he listed came by easily, but when he finally gathered them all and carefully pressed them against the pages, Alfyn smiled to himself.

It was time for payback.

 

VI.

 

“So this one is…”

“Snakeroot,” Alfyn told him, watching as Therion carefully examined the flower and turned it between his fingers, petite white blooms standing in stark contrast against the scar-covered brown skin of his hand. “It can be used to treat fevers and certain types of snake venom, but only the roots. So don’t worry about the rest of the plant.”

“They’re pretty, tho.”

That caught Alfyn by surprise. “Yeah,” he said, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upward. There was something hypnotizing about Therion’s fingers, he found out; how they were lithe and calloused -- oh, so different from Alfyn’s own --, holding the snakeroot with a delicacy that should be reserved to gold, gemstones and whatever else stuck-up noble types fancied. The apothecary bit his lip and chuckled to himself. “They are, ain’t they?”

Therion hummed something and nodded, putting the pressed flower back on the page and closing the book with a cheeky grin on his face which was more of a smik than a smile proper. “I can’t believe you’re shameless enough to give me your fucking grocery list.”

“Ah, I can take it back if you don’t want it…”

The thief looked at Alfyn with offense and hugged the book closer to his chest, like he would just change his mind and take it from him. “No, fuck off.”

Alfyn couldn’t help but laugh.

 

VII.

 

Therion started giving him flowers again; noxroot, sleepweed, addlewort, olive blooms and sometimes just pretty little things he found on the road, and as a result, his sash as well as the pages of his books were always overflowing with petals.

“I’m glad,” he admitted to Therion, and the miniscule smile on the thief’s face at that moment was worth more than any herb, potion or jewel in Orsterra.

 

VIII.

 

Alfyn was used to it by now; a hand slipping into his, a second that took too long, fingers intertwining for such a short amount of time that he could miss it if he wasn’t paying attention. 

It was a routine they have both fallen into without meaning to. Small presents, small touches, small excuses to walk side by side and fall behind while their traveling companions loudly discussed their next destination right ahead because somehow they failed to reach a consensus about their goal at the inn and they finally reached a fork on the road.

The apothecary felt the familiar touch of a calloused hand against his dry skin and looked down to his palm to see what he received, a gesture performed almost like clockwork at this point.

“Rush daffodil! I know this one!” Alfyn exclaimed with a smile on his face, twirling the vibrant white and yellow flower between his fingers by the stem. “Cyrus taught about it. It means ‘your affections are returned.’”

At his side, Therion laughed, rasp and awkward like he had forgotten how to do it. He put his hands behind his head with his elbows up, looking at Alfyn with the corner of his eye. “Well, aren’t you terribly knowledgeable, medicine man?”

_Emerald._ Emerald and silver, just like the earring.

“Well, I try my best.” He said, touching the piece of jewelry on his ear and feeling the cold metal against the warm tip of his fingers. The apothecary could feel Therion’s gaze resting on him, lazy and playful like a midsummer day, and everything suddenly felt hot. “Was it intentional?”

A shurg; an uninterested reply; “Who knows.”

Nevertheless, he could see Therion’s cheeks grow darker as the heat rose to his face.

Alfyn allowed a breathless chuckle escape his lips as he tucked the flower in his breast pocket. It was a small sign of affection, one born of clueless obliviousness, and it meant the world to him. “Aw shucks, Therion.” He slid his hand into the Therion’s and giving it a squeeze. “You make a guy feel special like this.”

The thief intertwined their fingers and the smile on his face was every bit as pretty as the flower. “Maybe that’s the objective.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Love as you may, the way doesn't matters; the essential is that you know how to love."  
>  _— Machado de Assis_
> 
> You know that Persona 2 poisoned you when you start adding flower language to everything. I mean, does Therion even knows flower language? Who knows! Not me.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://21stcenturyhero.tumblr.com


End file.
